


here is the deepest secret nobody knows

by angelsaves



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Pining, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: In which Brad finds himself soulbonded to Claire, and he's pretty sure it's one-way, and he has to alphabetize some vegetables about it, but it's fine, everything is fine.
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	here is the deepest secret nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by the magnificent waitforhightide!

It's kind of like being electrocuted. Brad's done that a couple of times, accidentally touched something that wasn't grounded right, so he knows what it's like: a blue-white shock all up his arm. 

It's like that when Claire's hand lands on top of his, only different.

He looks down at her, and she looks up at him, and the shock when their eyes meet is the same. _It's real,_ Brad thinks, and then Claire snatches her hand away from his, and the spell is broken.

"So!" she says brightly, going back to her spiel about her latest changes to the Butterfinger BBs recipe like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did, for her.

Brad's stomach hurts all of a sudden, and he mumbles something and heads for the walk-in fridge. He'll organize some shit, maybe that'll help.

The door closes behind him, and Brad lets out a heavy breath. Of course this is how it's gonna go: he meets his soulmate, he gets _bonded_ to the lady, and she doesn't get bonded back. Of fucking course.

* * *

He's been in the walk-in for long enough that he's sort of wishing for a sweatshirt or something when Christina comes in, holding a box of vegetables. "Oh, sorry, I just—" She pauses. "Uh, hey, Brad. Are you—are you alphabetizing?"

"I do that sometimes," Brad says.

"You really don't." Christina leans one hip against the door. "Are you having some kind of crisis?"

"Why would I be having a crisis?" Brad grabs a bundle of Swiss chard from next to some kale. "I might just feel like doing a little organizing. I'm an organized kind of guy."

"Are you putting that under S or C?" Christina asks, and when Brad can't remember for a second too long, she sighs and pats him on the shoulder. "If you want to talk about it, I have beer in my fridge and a couch that's almost long enough for you to sleep on."

"I got nothing to talk—" The door closes, and Brad lets the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Is it obvious to everyone that Brad is—is pining, or something? That's no good. He doesn't like that at all. He'd like to think of himself as an easygoing kind of guy, somebody who takes life as it comes, and usually, that's true. It's just that where Claire's involved, it's really, really not true.

Brad puts the chard down with maybe a little more force than it requires, takes off his hat, runs his fingers through his hair, and replaces the hat. This is bad. He can't just live in the walk-in forever, though, because even if it seems like a good idea now, eventually Claire's gonna want something from in here. Then he'd be stuck for sure.

Part of him thinks that'd be kinda nice -- he's got some ideas... but he pushes them down quick. She doesn't feel about him like he feels about her. That'd be awkward at best, and at worst... a lot worse than awkward.

No, he's gotta get out of here. Brad gets up from his crouch, knees cracking loudly in the chilly air, and squares his shoulders. He can do this. He can do his job, and not make anybody uncomfortable but himself.

* * *

The rest of the day goes... well, it goes. Claire avoids him, or he avoids Claire, he's not completely sure which. Either way, he doesn't have to face her for more than a few seconds at a time.

Every time, it hurts. It hurts like somebody's putting his heart through a damn food mill. Brad grits his teeth, pastes a smile on his face, and takes it. He's big and strong. He can get through a shitty day.

On the train back to Jersey, Brad drops his head into his hands and groans. It feels good, so he does it again, from deep in his gut. There isn't anybody in the seat across from him, so he doesn't have to worry about getting judged or whatever. He can groan in peace.

What's he going to do? He knows that soulbonds can break. He also knows it's supposed to hurt like hell. What he doesn't know is whether it'll hurt Claire, or just him. He can take it if it's just him, and then it'd be over. If it'd hurt her, too, though -- that, he's not willing to do.

He's gotta do some research. That's not exactly his favorite thing to do, but he'll do it for Claire. There's a bunch of things like that, if he's honest with himself.

He does a couple of Googles, and what he finds is not exactly promising. Nobody's sure if breaking a one-way bond is even doable, because it's already part broken or something, and they can't promise that it wouldn't hurt Claire if he even managed to do it. So that puts the caboose on that.

He's just gonna have to deal with it, that's all there is to it.

* * *

But the bond has other ideas, it turns out. As soon as Brad drops off to sleep, he's bombarded with images of him and Claire together— _together_. His dreams are usually pretty simple, stuff like finding an extra can opener in a drawer, or looking for a restroom, but this is something else. It feels real, in a way that sends sparks all through him. She's everywhere, she's everything, Claire Claire _Claire_ —

Brad has to wipe the tears out of his eyes when he wakes up, before they can spill over and drip into his ears. He hates that.

* * *

The next day, Brad's all prepared to steer clear of Claire, but he'd forgotten that she'd asked if he'd help with making something to form the candies into little balls. He doesn't want to disappoint her, so he tucks his feelings down where they're safe and gets out his tool box.

It's fine, it's all good, and then her small, cool hand lands on top of his, and a jolt of wanting shoots through him. It's worse than yesterday. A little hurt sound escapes him.

"Shit, did I—did I hurt you?" Claire asks, her beautiful brown eyes huge with worry.

"It's okay," Brad says. He pulls his hand away, slowly.

"No, it's not, I—" She clamps her mouth shut, like she's keeping words from escaping.

"It is," he insists. "It's all good."

"If you're sure." Claire looks away, back at the camera, and says, "Well, here goes nothing!"

For a moment, Brad thinks she might—. But she's trying the candies again. Of course. Why would she be doing anything else?

* * *

He's on his way to put his toolbox back where it belongs, when Claire barrels into him, knocking him stumbling into the walk-in. "Whoa there, Half-Sour!" he says, catching himself on the edge of a shelf, trying not to think about how her body felt pressed to his. "You okay?"

Claire has a determined look on her face. She shuts the door firmly and says, "We need to talk."

"Okay, sure," Brad says. "What's up?" His gut is twisted up like a pretzel.

"I know you don't want to be bonded to me, but we have to act normal." She lifts her chin. "We can break it if you want, but we've got to talk about it first. We're friends, aren't we?"

Brad's knees go weak, and he sits down hard on a cooler. "Of course we're friends, Claire," he says. His voice sounds weird, like he's at the end of a long hallway. "But—whaddaya mean, I don't want to be bonded to you?"

"Well, you don't," she says, like it's obvious. "You would've said something, otherwise." Her eyebrows push together. "Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Brad says, frustrated. "'Hey, Claire! You know how I've been crushing on you since forever? Well, it's turned into a one-way souldbond, so you're—you're fuckin' stuck with me!' Sure, that sounds like a fun conversation to have."

"Stuck with you," Claire says. " _One-way?_ Brad, are you kidding me right now?"

She's got her hands on her hips, and the fluorescent light behind her head turns her black-and-white hair into a halo. He stares up at her with his mouth hanging open like a dope.

"It's not one- _fucking_ -way, Brad." Claire takes his chin in one hand, a jolt of electricity making his toes curl, and kisses him hard, like she's maybe been thinking of doing it for a while. He knows, suddenly, that she has, the bond clicking into place like LEGO bricks with a satisfying snap.

It takes him a moment to realize that, yeah, this really is happening, and then he's all in, pushing against the cooler with his palms, letting Claire explore his mouth with hers.

He'd be happy to stay like this forever, Claire bending down to kiss the living daylights out of him, except then he hears Rapo ask, "What are you all doing standing around here? And why isn't anybody offering me some of their popcorn?"

Brad meets Claire's eyes, and she pulls back, covering her mouth with one hand. " _Not soundproof_ ," he whispers.

" _I noticed_ ," she whispers back, and slams the door open, sending their coworkers scattering like pigeons.

"Oh, hi, Claire," Molly says innocently. She's got a bowl of popcorn hidden behind her back, Brad can see it as he gets up from the cooler. "What's up?"

"Give me that!" Claire snatches the bowl out of Molly's hand. "What kind of—workplace harassment—" She stuffs a handful of popcorn in her mouth and chews angrily.

Brad pats her consolingly on the shoulder. "They're on our side," he says.

"It's true," Christina chimes in. "I'm on the side of truth, justice, and coworkers finding their soulmates where I can hear all the juicy deets."

"You're not helping," Claire says, but she's not really mad; Brad can feel the warm fondness leaking through the bond.

"Why don't you two take the day?" Rapo suggests, stealing a handful of Claire's rightfully stolen snack. "I get the feeling you won't be very productive if you stay."

Brad squeezes Claire's shoulder. "Thanks," he says. "We appreciate it."

* * *

Claire's apartment is closer, so that's where they go. Even with Rapo's blessing, it feels sort of naughty to be leaving work this early, like they're kids playing hooky from school. 

On the train, they can't stop touching each other: mostly just holding hands, soaking in their bond like they're plants soaking up the sun, but once Brad tucks a piece of Claire's hair back behind her ear, and the look on her face and the feelings in his chest are so overwhelming that he has to remind himself they're in public.

And then they're in Claire's building, racing up the stairs like a couple of delinquents, and she tries three wrong keys before Brad gives up, cups her face in his hands, and kisses the hell out of her. Fuck the neighbors, if he wants to make out with his soulmate (his _soulmate!_ ) on her doorstep—

Claire's been fumbling behind herself, a classic multitasker, and so he's mostly ready for it when the door clicks open—not completely ready, though, because somehow he trips over his own feet and lands on his back, with Claire on top of him.

Brad looks up at her, hair all ruffled, cheeks pink like flowers, and he thinks, _I could get used to this._ He grins, daring Claire to share the thought, and a matching smile blooms on her face. She settles herself a little more comfortably on top of him, and he pushes up on his elbows to meet her halfway.

"Do you want to—bed, maybe?" she asks, breathless, a while later, her mouth all red and wet and beautiful.

"I do want to bed, maybe," Brad agrees, and she swats at his chest. "You gonna get up, or am I gonna carry you?"

"I can't decide if that sounds more sexy or awkward," Claire says thoughtfully, climbing off of him. He gets to his feet and follows her to the bedroom. Emphasis on _bed_ : it's big, probably a queen, and it dominates the room. Brad's mouth is watering, he wants to see Claire in it so bad.

"It's not much—" she starts.

"It's yours," Brad says. "That's what matters."

Claire goes up on tiptoe to kiss him, then steps back. "Take off your clothes," she says. "I want—I want to see you. Here. Like this."

"What, in my birthday suit?" Brad pretends to be shocked, and Claire laughs. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Oh, I'll show you mine, all right." She starts to unbutton her shirt, then raises her eyebrows at him when he doesn't move. "Well?"

Brad hurries to get out of his henley. He can't take his eyes off Claire, the way her shirt is opening under her hands and revealing more and more of her skin. From the look in her eyes, hot and dark, he's not doing too bad himself. He gets the rest of his clothes off, and then he can't figure out what to do with his hands, so he reaches out for Claire, the perfect curves of her waist.

Her surprise and pleasure sings along the bond, making Brad grin, but she hops back a step anyway. "Nope," she says. "Not like that."

"However you want," Brad says, meaning it, and Claire beams at him.

"I like that," she says. "How about you get on the bed, and I'll show you how I want it?"

"You got it!" Brad lands on the bed with a thump. It's soft, with a nice headboard and a ton of pillows piled against it. He leans back against them and looks up at Claire.

She's looking down at him like she can't believe he's really there. He knows the feeling. "That's good," Claire says in a low voice, and she gets up onto the bed, straddling him again.

"Oh yeah?" Brad lifts his hands to help her get arranged, but she bats them away. 

"Let me," she says. "Will you be good?"

"Oh, I'll be good, Saffitz—"

Claire tips his chin up and kisses him, which he's gotta admit is a good way to shut him up. "Will you?" she asks again. "Prove it. Hang onto the headboard."

Brad gulps. He's never let somebody push him around in bed like that, but suddenly it's all he wants to do: whatever Claire tells him. He wraps his hands around the bars, getting a good grip, and licks his lips. "Like this?"

There's a hot throb of turned-on energy between them, and Brad can't tell who started it. "Yeah," Claire says. "Just like that." She reaches for the nightstand's drawer—Brad's closer, but he knows better than to move before she tells him to—and gets out a condom.

Brad breathes out, slowly, and lets her roll it on, doing his best not to come just from her competent hands on his cock. Then she's lining up and sinking down, and he wants to stay in this moment for the rest of his life: she's hot and tight and perfect, and the bond magnifies everything, like he can feel her feeling him, and on and on and on. "Aw, Claire," he says, desperate. "You gonna let me—"

"Hang on." She shifts her weight, lifts up, drops down— "There, oh, fuck, Brad, yes, you can touch me now—"

They fit so perfectly that Brad wants to—fuck, write a song, paint a picture about it. Instead, he makes his fingers let go of the headboard and touches Claire wherever he can reach, the soft places under her breasts, the curve of her jaw, the muscles in her thighs.

"Brad, _Brad,_ " she sighs, rocking on top of him, and kisses him again, sloppy and amazing. "Come on, let's go—" Claire reaches down between them, rubbing her clit, and she arches her back with a gasp.

"Oh, Jesus, Claire!" Brad watches her come, and when her cunt clenches around him, it's all over; he groans and gives it up for her.

Claire collapses on top of him, boneless, and it feels just right. He plays with a lock of her hair, and she presses clumsy kisses to his chest.

"So," he says finally, "what do we gotta change next time?"

"What?" She pushes herself up to look at him, gorgeous and sweaty and confused.

"To make it perfect," Brad explains.

Light dawns in her eyes. "Oh," she says, "I think it'll take a _whole_ lot of tries."

They grin at each other like idiots. It sounds like a great plan to Brad.

**Author's Note:**

> title from ["[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49493/i-carry-your-heart-with-mei-carry-it-in) by EE Cummings because i'm a basic bitch and i imprinted on ER, fight me


End file.
